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While the bent forest drops the chrystal tear,
And frozen Huron chills the shorten'd day,
'Till the young spring restor'd the blossom'd year,
Rack'd by disease the patient sachem lay.
O'er his pierc'd limbs, and lacerated form,
Celario binds the health-restoring leaf,
And guards his slumbers from surrounding harm,
With all the silent eloquence of grief.
'Till sov'reign nature, and benignant art,
Revive each nerve, each weaken'd fibre brace,
And ev'ry charm, that health and youth impart,
Glows in his veins, and brightens in his face.
Still to his love, Celario's heart returns,
Full oft he mourns her life-oppressing woe,
'Till great Ouâbi all his soul discerns,
And views the source, from whence his sorrows flow.
In pensive thought he treads the fenny meads,
While for his native home they bend their way,
Light as the air each hurried step proceeds,
Thro' the slow moments of the ling'ring day:

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'Till time, whom happy lovers form'd with wings,
To his own plains the matchless chief restores;
Around his neck the wild Azâkia clings,
Now weeps, now joys, now blesses, now deplores.
Another dream had rack'd her sleepless mind,
Where the great hero chid her long delay,
While all her tortur'd breast, to death resign'd,
Reproach'd the European's faithless stay.
The chief returns in all his native grace,
Tho' mark'd with wounds, and sear'd with many a scar,
Yet manly charms adorn his open face,
Still form'd to lead and guide the glorious war.
Celario gazes with unsated eye,
While down his cheek the tears of rapture flow,
His melting bosom heaves the breathing sigh,
And rising cares contract his polish'd brow.
Not unobserv'd the nectar'd sigh ascends,
Nor yet in vain the tears of fondness roll,
With soften'd look the gen'rous sachem bends,
While heav'nly music speaks his yielding soul.